


The Bitter Cold Truth

by Queenofdarkness039



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hypothermia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofdarkness039/pseuds/Queenofdarkness039
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power goes out at Sherlock's flat. Lestrade helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first work on this site, however I have lots of works to post.  
> Sorry, this is not Britpicked. I'm American.

Why was it so cold? Lestrade was sure he had never seen a flat so cold in his fifteen years on the police force; even when people had been dead for months. However, he wasn't sure that Sherlock Holmes lived in the flat. He wasn't sure how anyone could live there, with how cold and dark it was  
Teeth chattering, Lestrade moved forward into the clenches of the dark, frigid apartment. He hadn't heard from the man who owned it in a few days, not since the last crime scene, and he was hoping to see if the man was alright.  
Sherlock's dark coat was still on it's hook in the foyer, and his keys were in the basket nearby. Looking, Lestrade noticed the cell phone he had bought for Sherlock in the basket too. That shot any ideas Sherlock had left on his own will. Either he had been abducted, or he was still there.  
Lestrade shook all bad thoughts from his mind, moving towards the living room. He entered the room, sweeping with his gun for any noticible danger. "Sherlock?" he bellowed. His voice echoed off the empty walls. He shook his head, moving towards other rooms, making sure he called out for the man in every room. He paused before entering the kitchen, trying to figure out what he would do if Sherlock had been abducted. He shook that thought too. Sherlock would be in the kitchen.  
He stepped in the shadows of the kitchen, flicking his eyes over the room. Stove, refrigerator, what was that dark lump on the floor? Lestrade inched closer, brushing the figure with his foot when he spoke.  
"Hello, Lestrade." Sherlock said in a drawling voice. "Come to rescue me?"  
"Sherlock, what happened here?" Lestrade asked in a rushed panic. "You must be a bigger idiot than you thought if you can't tell the power went out." Lestrade let the insult go. "Jesus, you aren't even shivering. Come with me, now, or so help me God, I will make sure you never work another case again." With that, Lestrade turned away, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade started the car as his passenger got in, still blue in the face and still not shivering. He reached in the back for a large fleece blanket he kept, frowning as he noticed Sherlock trying to fall asleep. He knew that Sherlock was tired, it was one of the many symptoms of hypothermia, but he also knew Sherlock had to stay awake.   
"Hey, Sherlock! Stay with me!" he ordered, praying to God he could fix this without the hospital.  
"Greg." Sherlock slurred. "Is there a case?" And just like that, the act was gone. Greg had seen right through it, called Sherlock out on it, and Sherlock no longer had to play the part.   
"No, no case. You're sick, and coming with me." Lestrade reminded Sherlock.  
"Why? I'll be fine at my flat." Or, at least, that was what Greg thought he said.   
"No, you won't. Just trust me, sunshine."   
Sherlock seemed to quiet at that, and Greg tucked the blanket tighter around Sherlock.   
"Not in shock." he mumbled as Lestrade pulled the car out into the busy London streets.  
\----------------------------------------------  
Greg pulled the car up to his large apartment in central London, not too far from his job. His wife had left again soon after his two children went off to college, leaving him with this huge, lonely apartment.  
He watched as Sherlock tried to bully his limbs into activity, but couldn't. He smirked, "Need some help?"   
Sherlock looked up at him. "Perché sono qui?" he questioned in that same slurring tone. Leave it to Sherlock to speak a language Greg didn't understand.  
"Yeah, yeah, Sherlock. Come on." Greg said, wrapping his arm around Sherlock and hoisting him up.  
"Un momento! Non mi sento bene!" Sherlock cried in pain. At least Greg understood the first part, and stopped to let Sherlock catch his breath before climbing the stairs into his apartment.   
"Hey, sunshine, you can have my bed, alright?" It took a long minute for Sherlock to nod before Greg deposited Sherlock in a heap on his bed. He didn't put the blanket on yet, knowing Sherlock couldn't warm up too quickly or he could die.   
"Sleep well, Sherlock." Greg mumbled, stepping out to make some coffee and do some paperwork. It would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does speak some Italian in this, but I don't. Collins Dictionary was my best friend here.
> 
> Perché sono qui?: Why am I here?   
> Un momento! Non mi sento bene!: Wait a moment! I don't feel well
> 
> Please let me know if my Italian was off.  
> I'm actually thinking this will wind up being four chapters.   
> See you all around!


	3. Chapter 3

Greg worked on his paperwork through the cold January night, checking up on Sherlock every half an hour, only to reassure himself the younger man was alright and just sleeping. For him, sleep was not an option; he was too worried about Sherlock to sleep; to do anything more than do paperwork and pray that Sherlock would wake up soon.  
At about nine in the morning, there was a sharp knock at the door, almost as if the visitor was stabbing the door repeatedly in the chest. Greg groaned loudly, putting away the manila file before rising and stretching, wincing as his bones cracked. When he opened the door, he was suprised to find Mycroft Holmes on the other side, staring him down with a hostile expression.  
"So, not kidnapping me this time, Mycroft?" The man looked unimpressed with Greg's snarky comment. "I believe my brother came here last night."  
Greg said nothing, just opened the door wider and beckoned the elder Holmes through the door. "Sit down." Lestrade said, pointing to a green armchair facing the window. "Tea?" Mycroft denied the offer, and with the pleasantries over Greg sat in the other armchair facing the window.  
"Why did you take him out of his apatyment and force him to come here?" Mycroft started, acting like Greg was a suspect in a murder investigation.  
"I found him in his flat with no power, no heat, and I'm betting no hot water. You say you care about him so much, well why didn't you do something?" Mycroft looked down at his expensive leather shoes, and the detective suddenly felt guilty.  
"I tried to get everything turned back on, but the landlord was so drunk it did nothing." Mycroft said in a sharp tone, indicating that he did not like Greg implying that the man did not care about his brother. Greg looked away from Mycroft, towards the hallway leading to the rest of the apartment. "I'm sorry, Mycroft." he offered lamely.  
"It's fine." he snapped, and Greg stopped talking. After another five awkward minutes, Mycroft rose.  
"I have to be out of country for the next week." Mycroft said. "Keep an eye on him, will you?" And with that, the elder Holmes was gone; not a trace he had ever been there.  
Greg sighed and turned back to his paperwork.  
\--------------------------------------------  
It was around noon when Sherlock finally awoke. In a heavy panic, he struggled against the blankets, rolling off the bed and falling in a heavy thud. When Lestrade walked in a minute later, he was still panicked; trying to figure out where he was.  
"Hey, sleeping beauty." Greg said casually. "How does something to eat sound?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose and Greg frowned.  
"Alright, well, the bathroom is second door on the left, if you want to freshen up." Greg mentioned before walking out of the room. Had he not slept? Sherlock let it go. His mind was too slow for this.  
After Sherlock had showered, he wandered down the hall into the kitchen where Greg had set out a large meal.  
"I figured you hadn't eaten in a few days." Greg flipped the pancakes. "I won't take no for an answer." Sherlock sighed, sitting down as Greg slid a plate in front of him.  
Once Sherlock announced he was done, Greg took the plate away and pulled out his computer. "You need a new place to live." he pointed out. Sherlock mutely nodded and started looking.  
After about two hours, Greg stopped on one. "What about this one?" he asked the man sitting next to him. Sherlock looked over:  
"Oh, it's perfect! And I know the landlady, I helped her with a case!" With that, Sherlock made an appointment to see the flat.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
So, Sherlock moved to Baker Street, and Lestrade's apartment went back to being lonely, and Lestrade went back to sixteen hour days. The detective's case success rate skyrocketed, and he constantly worried about Sherlock.  
Soon after Sherlock moved to Baker Street, he suprised Lestrade by saying he had met a potential flatmate, and Lestrade was crushed, feeling Sherlock would no longer need him.  
When Lestrade met John Watson, he knew he was wrong. He liked the doctor, found him a good man and to be good for a drink now and again. He made Sherlock better, and he knew Sherlock still needed him.  
So, when people asked him about Sherlock, he said: "That's my son, and I'm proud of him.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's complete! Thanks for reading, I promise my next Sherlock fanfic will be better.


End file.
